Let Your Hair Down
by Dixiegirl256
Summary: Sometimes, fantasies do come true.  A little piece of fluff that proves Peter is more than just a pretty face.


Many thanks to CorwinOfAmber for the fascinating links on quantum entanglement that got me started.

Also thanks to Anna Torv for making women in glasses sexy, and to JJ Abrams, Jeff Pinkner, and Joel 'Bed Head' Wyman for creating such rich characters. It's all theirs, not mine.

As always, O'ConnellAboo's advice, insight, and recommendations made this a better story, and she certainly made it more fun to write.

* * *

><p>Let Your Hair Down<p>

Olivia looked up when she heard the key turning in the lock. Peter had take-out from Iyers around the corner and a six-pack of John Harvard's Celtic Red in one hand, keys in the other.

As he slipped them into his pocket, Olivia gave him a welcoming smile. Seeing her apartment key on his keyring, next to the Bishop house key, the lab key, and the key to Walter's ancient station wagon, made her feel so – normal.

_They had been reviewing case files in her office a few days after the incident at the Rosencrantz Apartments, looking for unexplained accidents that might indicate another soft spot in the barrier separating the two universes. Peter had gone out for fresh coffee, and when he'd returned, she'd said "I have something for you," and held out her closed hand._

_Peter had given her a quizzical look, but reached out to enclose her small fist in his larger hands. She'd dropped the key into his palm, then looked down, suddenly overcome with shyness. Peter looked at the key, then back to Olivia's face. His own was a mixture of surprise and pleasure. "Thank you," he'd murmured, his smile broadening as he slipped his keyring out of his jeans pocket and added Olivia's key. Olivia had blushed furiously at this point. Peter leaned over the desk and brushed his lips against her check. "Thank you," he'd whispered in her ear. _

_Olivia had assumed that the Other One had already given him a key. He was enough of a gentleman, however, not to mention it if she had. Just like he had pretended not to be familiar with her apartment, even though he knew his way around her kitchen and how to wiggle the taps to make the shower run faster – both acquired talents._

Peter leaned over the couch and gave her a quick kiss, then nuzzled her neck. Her hair was tucked up in a messy bun, giving him easy access to his favorite spot. "Hey," he said softly into her neck.

As he straightened up, he waved the sack of Indian food, dispersing the savory spice-laden aroma. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

When she shrugged her shoulders, he eyed her closer. "When was the last time you ate?"

Her stomach betrayed her as it growled in reaction to the scent wafting from the bag in Peter's hand.

"Mmhhmm, thought so," he said as he headed into the kitchen. "I'll get it ready, I'm sure you need a break anyway."

The sound of the refrigerator door, the cabinets and drawers opening and closing as Peter gathered plates and silverware - these were all comforting sounds to Olivia. She could hear Peter humming some jazz melody under his breath, something she'd heard him play on the piano at the lab. She'd never had this kind of relationship with John; it was always sneaking an hour or two at a motel, or meeting clandestinely at an out of the way restaurant. It was almost as if their relationship was an extramarital affair, but the marriage was to the Bureau and the secrecy was necessary to protect their careers, or so they'd thought at the time.

But with Peter, it was different. Despite his nomadic background, he seemed to cherish these moments of quiet domesticity. Nights at the Bishops, letting Walter cook for them (under close supervision, of course), then watching movies together on the worn couch in the living room. The occasional afternoon off, spent strolling in Inman Square or the Cambridge Commons if the weather was good, in the Fitz or one of the other nearby museums if it wasn't. Despite the threat of everything crashing down around them, he seemed to carve out these little chunks of life for them, knowing that the time to enjoy it might be much shorter than either of them wished.

_He'd starting taking the Navigator for fill-ups, even over her protests that he didn't have to do those things for her. He'd given her his trademark smirk and replied, "That's why I do them," as he'd headed out the door. When he'd returned, she was reviewing case files with Astrid in the lab. "Keys on your desk, Olivia," he'd called in passing as he searched for Walter. Later, as she'd picked up her keys to head to the FBI offices for a meeting with Broyles, she'd noticed a new key, a shiny brass key with "B" stamped on the bow. She'd looked up and out into the lab. Peter was working with Walter, pointing out something on a monitor, but he'd met her gaze and gave her a small smile and a nod. She'd smiled back and put her keys in her pocket as she'd walked out the door. _

He came out of the kitchen a few minutes later, two plates balanced on his arm, silverware, napkins, and two beers in his hands. The aroma of chicken biryani, shrimp vindaloo, and naan filled the air. Olivia gathered up the papers and folders scattered across the coffee table to make room for the plates, and reached out to take the bottles from Peter's hand.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" She motioned at the plates balanced on one arm.

"Waiting tables is always a quick way to pick up a few bucks," he said, setting the plates on the coffee table. "It helps if you know the tricks of the trade." He moved her laptop from the couch to the stack of papers on the table, and sat down next to Olivia. "I make a mean martini, too."

Olivia shook her head. "One day, you'll have to tell me about all the things you've done," she said as she picked up a plate and speared a bite of chicken.

"Oh, it's all in the 'file' you have on me, isn't it, sweetheart?" he said sardonically, referring to the non-existent FBI file that Olivia had used to threaten him, to convince him to return with her from Iraq.

"Somehow, I don't think that file is complete," she laughed. "I think I need to do more research."

"After you eat," he replied, gesturing with his fork.

Peter related the latest Walter-ism, and Olivia talked about Rachel's upcoming visit with Ella. Finally, Peter broke the last piece of naan in two, and offered one to Olivia.

"I couldn't eat another bite. Honestly."

Peter stood to gather their plates, but Olivia put her hand on his arm. "You cooked," she said, grinning as she picked up the plates and napkins. "Let me clean up."

"Are you sure you're up for that?" he teased. Olivia's lack of culinary and domestic skills were a running joke between them, but also one of the reasons that Peter made sure she ate at least once a day, and he always seemed to be "just stopping at the market" when en route to her place.

He followed her back into the kitchen with the empty beer bottles, then pulled two more out of the refrigerator.

As they settled back on the couch and Olivia spread her papers in front of them, she explained what she'd been working on. They'd just wrapped up a case involving unexplained outages on the power grid in the Northeast. Two weeks of almost non-stop investigation brought them back to Cambridge, to two graduate students at MIT. Walter had identified the conceptual cause behind the outages, but Peter's computer skills had tracked down the source and enabled them to stop the programs running covertly on the MIT network.

"I'm trying to understand the technology behind this," she said as she picked up her reading glasses and a stack of folders. She put on her glasses, sleek black oblong frames, and opened the top folder. Peter took another swig of his beer and studied Olivia. Her hair was in a loose bun, held in place by a pencil. She wore a white blouse, just as she did almost every day, but he thought she might have unbuttoned an extra button as an acknowledgement of his presence. She was totally focused on the document she was reading, but the plain black frames accentuated her olive eyes. Just like the photo that had figured so prominently in his thoughts when he had only dreamed of being her lover.

His body responded to that memory, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to look nonchalant as he moved closer to Olivia. "Let me see your source material," he said as he draped an arm behind her on the couch.

"Well, there's not a lot about quantum entanglement as it relates to computers, at least nothing past the theoretical stage." She handed Peter the folders she'd been perusing, and reached for her laptop.

"This is what I have from Massive Dynamic, and I've found some interesting research from Berkeley and MIT." Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "I think I get the basic concept – that objects that are quantum entangled share the same space or the same knowledge – but how does that relate to the grid failures?" She sighed. "I know you've explained it a dozen times, but I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around it, Peter, and I've got to give Broyles a case report tomorrow."

Peter looked up from the laptop screen and directly into Olivia's eyes, luminous behind her glasses. The intensity of her gaze caught him off guard, and his mind flashed back to an image of her straddling him, unbuttoning his shirt and focusing that intense stare on him. He swallowed and shifted again, trying to ignore his cock, which was getting more insistent with every breath. Quantum mechanics was hardly erotic, but Olivia's proximity and the sweet scent of her hair were making it difficult for him to concentrate.

He took a deep breath and thought of Schrödinger and Einstein – anything to take his mind off Olivia's perfect neck, framed by the blond tendrils that had come loose. "You know that Einstein called entanglement 'spooky action at a distance'? That's a good place to start." He stretched his legs, hoping to find a more comfortable position without being obvious. "Do you have some paper? It might be easier if you can visualize it."

Olivia started to rise, but Peter touched her arm and said quickly "I'll get it. Just tell me where to look." He was hoping it was somewhere out of her line of vision.

"There's a sketch pad on the table by the bed, I think." Olivia was reading the MIT paper, her forehead furrowed in concentration.

He stood, grateful for the momentary respite. Walking to her bedroom, he mentally chastised himself for acting like a horny sixteen year old. He stopped as he stepped into her bedroom – she'd rearranged the furniture, again. He understood her reasons, and the need for a new bedspread, even a new bed… anything to drive away the lingering memories of the Other Olivia and her invasion into their lives, but he hoped she'd stop rearranging the furniture soon. He liked the feel of the breeze from the open window on their naked skin after making love. If she woke before he did (and she usually did), she'd sit on the couch and drink coffee – she was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

But tonight, the new arrangement was a good thing. As he approached the bedside table, he was able to find a more comfortable position for his unruly cock, albeit a temporary one. He found the sketchpad on the lower shelf of her nightstand, but as he returned to the living room, Olivia looked up at him, the smile in her eyes matching the one on her lips, and he was impossibly hard again.

"You need another beer? I'm getting one," he said, heading for the kitchen instead.

"No, I'm good" she replied with an amused lilt to her voice. "Are you ok, Peter? You look a little flushed."

Peter gripped the edge of the sink and took a couple of deep breaths. "You can do this, Bishop," he thought to himself. He took another deep breath and returned to the couch.

Despite her proximity, Peter soon became engrossed in his subject, and Olivia's insightful questions made it clear that she had been studying the available material. He loved her quickness and the way she absorbed knowledge.

"So… by quantum entangling the network supporting the power grids with the MIT system, Greene and Steward were able to remove the grid programs from their system and cause them to be deleted on the computers at the power stations?" Olivia peered over the rim of her glasses at Peter, looking for verification.

"Mmmm, yeah, that's it." Peter slid the sketch pad back into his lap. Olivia was scrolling through the MIT paper, obviously looking for something. "I still think someone else fed them the technology. They just didn't seem smart enough to figure all this out on their own. Zellinger's the only guy in the field that's had any tangible results, and his work is nowhere close to this level of complexity. "

"Peter, what about this? 'Electrons generated by a black box device and directed to an observer could be produced in a like state, creating a pure ensemble which could then be considered entangled.' Is that what they used? A black box?"

"Hmm, what? Where do you see that?"

"It's in the paper by Bell, Dr. Patrick Bell. He's related to Dr. John Bell, the Irish physicist who proved some of Einstein's theories on entanglement. He's cited in a number of dissertations, but I can't find anything on the man himself – just these few papers published when he was at MIT." Olivia pointed to the laptop screen, shifting closer to Peter. "Here's where he references the black box… and he goes on to say –"

"Wait a minute. Let me see that." Peter took the laptop and scanned the document quickly. As he was scrolling down the screen, his grin broadened and he started chuckling. "No wonder this sounded so familiar," he said as he reached the end of the paper and angled the laptop back to Olivia to give her a better view.

She looked at the screen, then back at Peter with a puzzled expression on her face. Peter pointed at the link to the author's biography at the end of the paper.

As the next screen displayed, Olivia gasped. Next to a short biography, there was a photograph – a man of indeterminate age, with longish hair, a full beard, and horn rimmed glasses. He looked straight into the camera with an expression of gravitas. But he looked strangely familiar…

"You wrote this? You're Dr. Patrick Bell?"

Peter inclined his head in her direction. "At your service." He chuckled again. "You should know the best cons are the ones closest to the truth."

Olivia shook her head. "Broyles will never believe this."

Peter shrugged. "You knew I was at MIT. And that I was published while I was there."

"But you're still on their website. Didn't they know… "

"It's still real science." Peter gave her a rueful smile. "Everything else you know about me, and you find THAT hard to believe?"

Olivia reclaimed her laptop and began typing rapidly into an FBI document. "I've got to finish this report before all this stops making sense again."

Peter stretched his legs under the coffee table again, still looking for a comfortable position. "You understand all this now."

Olivia nodded.

"And all you need to finish the report is the technology section and the summary?"

She nodded again.

Peter gave her one of his best con-man smiles. "What if I write that for you, and in exchange, you do something for me?" He tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek.

Olivia decided to play along. "And what would that be, Dr. Bell?"

Peter leaned closer and murmured "Oh, Bell was a stuffy academic with no imagination, while I, on the other hand, have a very creative imagination." He traced a path with his lips, from that sensitive spot behind her ear to his favorite spot, the little hollow at the base of her neck.

Olivia nudged him gently and handed him the laptop. "Work first," she said sternly, but softened her words with a kiss that left them both a little breathless. She scooted to the end of the couch and propped her bare feet against his hip.

He patted her feet and grumbled "slave driver," sotto voce, but he was already tapping the keys with his slender fingers.

Olivia gazed at him with hooded eyes. A musician's hands, she mused, and shivered at the thought of those hands cupping her cheek, stroking her hair, tracing a pattern between her freckles like the diagrams he'd sketched earlier. His hands played her body like he played the piano, deft and sure, with a gentle touch that could make her weak with pleasure. She sighed, and Peter looked up from the keyboard.

"You know you make me crazy when you wear those glasses," he growled. "Don't distract me, woman, I'm almost done."

A few minutes later, he handed her the laptop. She scanned the report, saved it, and nodded. "It looks good, Peter. Thank you."

Peter pulled her into his lap and took the laptop from her, setting it on the table. She turned to face him, a leg tucked on either side of him and her hands on his shoulders. Peter had a flashback of another Olivia, the same way on this same couch – but he pushed it out of his mind, determined to create a memory with his Olivia to replace it. He remembered all the times he'd thought of her like this, all the times he looked at the photograph of her with the messy, upswept hair, the glasses perched on her nose, and he thought of all the things he wanted to do with her, all those sleepless nights when she invaded his mind.

He cupped her face in his hands and brought her closer to him, then kissed her slowly and thoroughly. She gave him a knowing smile, and he realized she remembered the photo as well, and their conversation.

"Tell me what you want, Peter," she murmured as she unbuttoned his shirt.

He slipped his hands under her blouse and caressed the smoothness of her back. "Let your hair down for me," he whispered, and then he was lost in her eyes.


End file.
